I was sitting in the ER waiting room, rocking my newborn daughter, Olivia. She was only three weeks old, burning with fever, and no matter how tightly I held her, she wouldn’t stop crying. My arms shook as I tried to steady her bottle. My whole body still ached from the C-section, and nights without sleep had left me hollow-eyed and exhausted.

I whispered over and over, “Shh, baby, Mommy’s here,” even though my own voice was breaking. I was praying—begging—that she would calm down.
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